


In Which Enjolras Is [Not] Apollo

by whatpassesformymind



Series: Paint Splatters [AU] [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatpassesformymind/pseuds/whatpassesformymind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis meet Gavroche, who is unexpectedly quiet, and Enjolras is only human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Enjolras Is [Not] Apollo

**Author's Note:**

> This directly follows on from 'In Which Enjolras Is Painted' :)

Grantaire’s phone buzzed quietly in the pocket of his hoody, earning him a glare off of the girl next to him. He gave her an apologetic smile and put his paintbrush down. His art teacher didn’t even care what they did usually, and now they were just passing time until they wouldn’t have to attend lessons anymore. His final piece was complete, and that was what mattered.

There were two texts. And they were both from Enjolras.

[from: Enjolras | to: Grantaire | 11:19]

_Thanks for last night. And sorry._

He hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

[from: Enjolras | to: Grantaire | 11:20]

_Is that really how you see me?_

Grantaire felt vaguely ill. Had he not liked the painting? Jehan agreed that it was the best of the lot.

[from: Grantaire | to: Enjolras | 11:28]

_Why, dear Apollo, not good enough for you?_

He returned to his painting, but found that he had lost that state of mind where he could transfer his thoughts onto canvas with ease.

It was bad enough for Enjolras to turn up at his door, late at night, mocking him. _Paint me like one of your French girls._ The alcohol had clearly loosened his tongue, allowed Enjolras to bring up Grantaire’s… infatuation. Normally he would sidestep, pretend he did not see it, but how could he not? Grantaire made no attempt to hide his feelings.

[from: Enjolras | to: Grantaire | 11:33]

_Don’t call me that. The painting is very good Grantaire. I’m sure you’ll pass._

Grantaire very nearly laughed out loud at that. It wasn’t the examiner’s standards that he was concerned about.

* * *

 

[from: Grantaire | to: Enjolras | 11:37}

_My apologies Apollo. Your concern for my studies is admirable._

Enjolras scowled. What had he done wrong? Grantaire seemed offended, irritated still.

[from: Enjolras | to: Grantaire | 11:42]

_Do not call me Apollo._

[from: Enjolras | to: Grantaire | 12:53}

_I meant it as a compliment. I liked the painting._

* * *

 

[from: Enjolras | to: Grantaire | 16:04]

_We will be going to the Musain tonight at eight, if you are coming._

[from: Grantaire | to: Enjolras | 17:18]

_Don’t I always?_

* * *

 

Their corner (or really, their half) of the café was empty but for Courfeyrac and a young child when Enjolras arrived. Other regulars left it alone, and the Musain rarely attracted non regular customers.

“Who’s this?” he asked, jerking his head towards the boy. He couldn’t be more than ten.

“This is Gavroche,” Courfeyrac grinned, used to Enjolras’ lack of greeting. “He’s Éponine’s little brother – the waitress?”

Éponine chose this moment to emerge from the back room, carrying a sandwich and a glass of orange juice.

“He’s not annoying you is he?” she asked guiltily. “Musichetta said he could stick around while I worked tonight.”

Courfeyrac jumped to assure her that no, no, Gavroche was fine there. Enjolras privately thought that it was a bad idea to leave a young child around influences such as Bahorel and Grantaire, but kept quiet on the matter.

* * *

 

“Bossuet has broken his arm, he’s not coming,” Joly informed them. This was met with a ripple of laughter and a few shouts of ‘again?’.

Things soon settled down into their usual pattern (minus Bossuet, plus Gavroche). Enjolras was discussing politics with anyone that would listen (even if that anyone was only himself), Combeferre switched between joining his friend and doing homework (really, how much work could one person have?), and the others were eating, drinking and telling bad jokes. Éponine took a seat at the edge of the group when her shift ended at nine, presumably awaiting the arrival of Marius. The two were fairly close, if Grantaire remembered correctly.

* * *

 

She was waiting quite a while. At eleven, just as they were preparing to leave, Marius burst in to the café with an exceptionally stupid smile spread across his face.

“She _spoke_ to me!” he all but shouted across the room.

No one had any doubts as to who ‘she’ was. They’d had about a month of Cosette this, Cosette that, and oh but isn’t Cosette just _perfect_? Even Jehan, who was in love with the idea of love, was starting to get a little tired of it. Éponine snorted and headed out, leading a half asleep Gavroche by the hand.

Combeferre took pity on Marius and asked about his encounter (which sounded pretty creepy to Grantaire. But it would seem that Cosette liked creepy guys who stalked her on Facebook, so there you go).

And then everyone was gone, in that sudden way they sometimes had, and Grantaire was left alone. He would have to run a bit to catch up with Jehan-

Not alone. Enjolras was still there, watching him.

“Did you really like it?”

Grantaire wasn’t entirely sure that he controlled his own mouth sometimes. He certainly hadn’t meant to say that.

"The painting, I mean," he clarified quickly.

“I- yes, of course,” Enjolras said, seemingly puzzled. “It just looked a bit, well, godlike to be me.”

“Well Apollo is god of the sun,” he pointed out.

“Don’t- I’m not a god Grantaire. Please understand that I am only human.”

“Not to me.”

Grantaire found Jehan waiting for him halfway down the street. He was more than a little tipsy, and laughed as he clung to Grantaire’s arm, half singing poetry all the way home.


End file.
